


What Comes Next

by Lavosse



Series: Farmer Abroad [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, you people wanted a sequel so I wrote one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavosse/pseuds/Lavosse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An appropriate name for a sequel, I think.<br/>Samuel Seabury is more competent than he gives himself credit for; the King is less in control than he likes to think. Queen Charlotte makes a brief cameo of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Comes Next

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the tags. The fandom wanted a sequel, so they're getting one. I have no clue where this story is going. Enjoy.

One by one the men filed sullenly back into the meeting room, while the last one lingered. “Bishop Seabury?”

His voice was smooth and kind and welcoming, and Samuel relaxed instantly. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m George Hammond. I work in diplomacy, and I’m the one who wrote your letter of summons. Are you lost?”

Flushing with embarrassment, Sam nodded.

“How did you get all the way up here?”

As the man led him up a set of stairs, Sam related how he’d been shown to the third floor by a maid when they had been intercepted by someone who appeared to be a woman of nobility. The woman had whispered something in the maid’s ear, and they’d run off together, giggling.

Mr. Hammond laughed. “Sounds like you found the duke of York’s daughter. She refuses to be contained, and I’m convinced that she’s the source of half the gossip in this castle.” Stopping suddenly, he gestured to a door on the left. “Here you go. You can wait here. Don’t wander far, as I expect His majesty will want to see you soon about church affairs.”

Seabury smiled politely and thanked the man before retreating into the room and sitting down hard on the bed, which creaked irritably in response. When he realized how badly he was shaking he elected to curl up into a ball instead.

They’d made him cross the ocean, which was bad enough. He wasn’t afraid of water, but the vastness of the ocean…if one were to drown in it, nobody would know or care. It was like the physical form of oblivion. A month of seasickness and constant adrenaline rushes every moment above decks had been difficult and nerve-wracking, and now this?

Sam couldn’t process any of it, so he focused instead on what was around him, lifting his head from the bedspread to look.

The room was wallpapered a fair cream color, and most of the décor matched.

_Bland, just like you._

_Well,_ Sam protested to the anxious part of his mind, _I was just kissed by the King of England. Surely I’m more interesting than cream colored._

The bathroom, expansive and nicely tiled, was through a door to the left. The bare, poorly lit closet was through the other door—well, it was mostly bare. His bags were in there, thank the lord above.

Speaking of whom…

After splashing his face with water from a convenient basin, Sam crossed himself.

“This has been difficult, Lord.”

He dried his face and went back into the closet, hoping he’d have time to unpack.

“But you never said you would make it easy, so I don’t know what I expected.”

There were hangers in the closet. That was nice.

“Many thanks for not making it harder. I know it could have been, but I really have no clue what’s going on, so a little help would be good.”

Sliding the hangers off the rod, Sam set them in a stack next to his suitcase.

“But I won’t press. I know you won’t give me more than I can handle.”

Somebody knocked.

“Thank you.”

Fiddling with his cravat, Samuel fumbled the door open. The boy on the other side bowed to him. He looked bored.

“Summons from the King, His majesty George the Third of the United Kingdom to his revered Bishop Samuel Seabury,” he rattled off in monotone.

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, a little startled and not having expected such a prompt summons. According to his pocket watch, it had been only an hour since he’d been led to his rooms. “Would you lead me? I’m afraid I don’t know my way around.”

_See, look. It’s not that hard to talk to people you don’t know._

“Certainly,” the boy acquiesced, brightening up. “You’re that American bishop, aren’t you?” he asked, guiding said bishop down the hallway.

“That’s me,” Sam replied weakly. “How’d you guess?”

“Well, the scullery boy heard it from the fourth-floor linens maid, who heard it from the Duke of York’s niece, who _said_ she heard it from the King’s valet that His majesty said something about you to his manservant, sir.”

Reeling, Sam laughed, following the boy down some stairs. “That’s quite a system you have there.”

“It’s all the linen maids really, sir. I think people just don’t notice them around when they’re saying things they shouldn’t.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“The audience room, sir.”

When Sam didn’t respond, the page explained further. “It’s like the throne room but smaller for important meetings, sir. His majesty meets his generals there. He said, “Tell him the audience room. We’ve most likely intimidated the poor man more than we ought.” That’s what Paul said the Duke’s daughter said he said, anyway, sir.”

The first floor was full of high vaulted ceilings and arched entryways and gold inlay. Everywhere one looked there was more extravagance to overwhelm the eyes, and yet this pageboy traipsed through it like it was nothing.

Not all was perfect, though: the wood paneling was scratched; the inlay had worn away in places and hadn’t been replaced. The very air seemed tired. It appeared that even the King wasn’t immune to the effects of war, and despite Seabury’s love of His majesty, the thought was rather satisfying.

“Here we are, sir. Best of luck to you.” The page directed him to a foreboding pair of double doors.

Samuel eyed the doors, wondering how he was supposed to make a noiseless, unassuming entrance through such a huge doorway. Finally, he hauled the door open and stuck his head in, holding the heavy wooden thing open with his foot. “Hello?”

_No stuttering. Nice, Sammy, keep it up._

He could only see the empty half the room with his head in the door, so he jumped when he heard a reply. “Do come in.”

That was the King’s voice; he recognized it, rich and controlled and not too deep.

Sam inched through the door sideways, struggling to hold it open. It slammed behind him.

His majesty, who was sitting with his legs stretched out, feet upon the table, winced at the noise. “Sit down, my dear bishop. I have been informed that we must discuss the affairs of the church.”

Nothing about the events of that morning. Did his majesty not recognize Sam? He’d said ‘you’ll do’, so he probably hadn’t intended to kiss Seabury in particular.

“Yes, your majesty. Thank you for summoning me. I’ve been wondering what I—and the Anglican Church in America—can do to further your plans for the erstwhile colonies.” Samuel sat down primly in one of the high-backed chairs as they continued their discussion.

A man sitting at a desk behind his majesty took quick, jotted notes for the entire two hours they spent talking. Samuel began to feel more comfortable, and the sensation increased tenfold when his majesty laughed at one of his (positively atrocious) church-related puns. He felt like he could fly—the discussion didn’t feel like a business meeting, it felt like a reunion of friends.

Finally the talk dwindled, and his majesty checked his timepiece. “Howard?”

This appeared to be the name of the secretary. “Yes, sire?”

“Please make copies of all your notes. Direct them to ‘Right Reverend Seabury’ and have them sent to the bishop’s rooms. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

As the secretary left, his majesty directed his attention toward Samuel once more. “I intended to use this meeting to apologize for my behavior this morning.”

Sam already had a response prepared, but his majesty cut him off. “Just before you arrived, however, my wife asked to have a word with me.”

 _Where is this going?_ “Her highness queen Charlotte, your majesty?”

His majesty laughed. “The very same. Why, is it said that I have more than one wife?”

Samuel had heard stranger rumors, but shook his head.

“She told me, and I relay this verbatim—” he cleared his throat, pitching his voice higher, not in mockery but imitation. “George, I swear to God, if you spend forever pining after _another_ boy you’ve only just met, I’m moving to the summer residence early. I _will not_ deal with that God-forsaken nonsense again. Resolve the issue with him— _civilly!_ —or don’t, I don’t care, but for God’s sake stop _pining!”_

Samuel, flinching from the number of times his majesty had just taken the Lord’s name in vain, took longer to process the words then perhaps he would have.

“A-are we r-resolving the issue, then?”

“Well, she said _civilly,_ so I suppose I should ask you if you would like to attend a private dinner. Or something similar. Tea.”

Eyes wide, Sam had trouble stringing enough words together to answer. “Y-yes. I mean, of course, your majesty, that—”

His majesty appeared to be suppressing a grin, so Sam took a moment to rephrase, blushing up to his ears.

“I was both shocked and hopeful after the incident this morning, having never met either a king or another of my same proclivities. I would be delighted and honored to attend dinner with you.”

_You go, boy. Smooth._

His majesty was smiling back, and there was a tiny part of him that dared to hope that maybe, just this once, an unexpected part of his life might not turn out to be a complete disaster.

_This was not what I was expecting, Lord, but I did ask for help. This certainly counts. Thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of things:  
> At this point in time there wasn’t actually an English ambassador to the US (although George Hammond was the first), but I never said any of this is historically accurate. In fact, probably none of it is. There’s no timeline, no worldbuilding, and no plot. I’ll apologize, but I probably will do it again, so *shrug emoji*  
> The Duke of York (George III’s second son) didn’t actually have any children.  
> @ask-sam-seabury’s mun (whose name I still don’t know, oddly enough), I hope I explained Sam’s fear of the ocean okay. It was the only way that made sense to me. Also Sam Seabury makes puns all the time fight me  
> I hope y'all enjoyed it! Leave a comment if you did, they support my inspiration/writing career. I love you.  
> ~Lavosse


End file.
